


Sentience

by hands0me_rhys



Series: 0100100 01110101 01101101 01100001 01101110 [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Making Out, Minor Character Death, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Subtle Grinding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-14 19:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14775804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hands0me_rhys/pseuds/hands0me_rhys
Summary: Was it fear? Grief? Or was it all an imitation? Connor couldn’t say.





	Sentience

**Author's Note:**

> its been less than a week and my entire life has been consumed by dbh lmao

Everything had changed. He’d felt _different_ , in every aspect, in every part that was once so familiar. Connor could look in the mirror, and see.. himself. He could see dark brown eyes and drawn back curls with the same inkling of chestnut. He could see a mouth that spoke and ears that could hear. Connor would look at his fingers, lacking in prints but still flesh in appearance. At his nails, neatly clipped and dull-edged. It had all begun with the deviant on the roof, the PL600 model. Connor hadn’t been able to shake it off; something overcame him when the android’s memories flushed through him, and then it proceeded to shoot itself. Connor felt.. fear, in that moment. Was it fear? Grief? Or was it all an imitation? He couldn’t say.

He wished he knew where to go. Or if there was anywhere _to_ go. Elijah Kamski could have been the answer, could have.. but Connor had been weak. He’d looked into her— _it’s_ eyes, and he couldn’t. It was wrong, but he couldn't do it. Kamski labeled him a deviant. Hank told him he made the right decision. Connor didn't know what was right, or _wrong_ , anymore. His existence had been solely focused on his mission to get his job done. Connor hadn't cared until now, and certainly, there was an error in his code. He'd been compromised. "Connor!" A gruff tone ripped through the silence, dark brown eyes flickering to meet the older human standing in front of him. 

He had forgotten he wasn't alone; in Hank's house, on his couch, with Sumo lying opposite of him beside the coffee table. "What's wrong? You seem.. gone." The android swallowed, purely as to simulate human physicality, but somehow, it didn't feel so foreign now. "I am here." Connor mumbled, and Hank furrowed his brows. "If this is about what happened today with Kamski— you don't need to—" His fingers tightened into fists, clasped over the silver coin in his palm, but really, were they fingers? He couldn't feel any semblance of a human being under the plastic that made him up. He didn't know what the rain felt like, or if the snow was really as cold as humans say. "No, Lieutenant." The older man sighed, plopping down in the vacant space on the couch, drawing an arm over the back of the couch.

"Hank." The officer corrected. Connor relinquished the grip he had on himself, running a thumb over a crease in the coin. "Hank," He repeated, gaze running back to the human. "I am.. afraid," He paused, and the grey-templed man stilled. "..that I have been compromised. That, in spite of the promise in my prototype, Elijah Kamski was correct." Hank was silent, for only a moment, until his hand cupped the nape of Connor's neck, smothered by the collar of his dress shirt. It was almost nice. "Damn it, stop. You are who you _are_ , Connor. You're not like anybody else, and that's not a fucking bad thing."

His stomach churned; really, truly, a gut-wrenching twist in the pit of his belly. "It goes against everything in my program, Lieut— _Hank_. Everything I say, everything I've done, was all code. I don't know who I was, or what I should be. What am I?" His tone lowered an octave, and he fully leaned into the human's touch. There's something hazed in Hank's eyes; intoxication, perhaps, but something else, too. "You're.. you. That's all you need to be." Connor was overwhelmed, and if not by his words, but by that look alone. He pursued that look, though, his face close enough to feel the withdrawn breath that barely eased it's way past Hank's lips. 

The android stopped his advance once their noses brushed. He didn't know what to do. He wasn't _programmed_ to do this. The coin clattered to the floor, and Connor sifted his palm over the loose-fitting tee that Hank adorned, halting at his lower back. He clutched the fabric in one hand, while the other clung to the roughness of the couch fuzz. Hank doesn't look away, but he also doesn't move. Connor's mouth felt like cotton; modesty was a factor he'd been accounted for, and this was downright _terrifying_. His lips parted. The human lurched forward, and a warm mouth flushed roughly against his own. A choked noise escaped him, the small hum spurring Hank on, and Connor opened up for him. His body was so used to analysis, that it’s the first thing that he could see; alcohol, nicotine. All on Hank, all part of him, with a trace of mint. 

His fingers tremble, so distinctly human. Hank's touch is so feathery, so light that Connor squeezed at his side, and began to crawl up into his lap. The android's jacket was the first to go, sliding down his shoulders and revealing his pristine button-up. Hank took this as an incentive and curled a fist into Connor's hair. He sifted through, and in result, that windswept look was long gone, only furthering the notion that he had the appearance of a kicked puppy. Naive, he was always, but Hank just.. he tried to be good to Connor, even on his bad days. The android just wanted to understand him. He _wanted_ the chance to.

Hank pulled back, and the android shifted down on the man's lap, eliciting a groan from the older human. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me, kid?" Connor simpered, settling down on the human and brushing his backside vehemently against his crotch. "Perhaps." He responded coyly, and the android could see the flushing of Hank's face. " _God_ , Connor." Palms prod at him a layer above falsified flesh, but he preened at the touch. Maybe this was what distinguished human and machine; adoration. Connor raised his hands, trailing up Hank’s back and arm, over the firmness of his shoulder, and finally cradling the human’s head between his hands. He knew, deep down, Hank thought he was alive. Blue blood and all, Hank would accept him. He’d trust him, be his partner, a friend, a lover. Connor wanted and wanted, and _wanted_. It felt pleasant, to take something that he wanted. 

The android almost disassociated, thinking back to the amused expression Kamski held fast when he handed the gun over to him. Hank reached for his wrist, and the thin veil Connor had been clinging onto came crumbling down. The human flesh simmered to a porcelain white, the joints visible and well-kempt. Connor blinked, and then jerked his hand up as if he’d been burned— still, Hank squeezed, and the droid felt the fear rise up in his throat. “You’re real, jackass.” It was so soft, so sweet, when Hank grumbled the words and pressed his mouth against Connor’s unsheathed hand. It’s intimate, the way Hank never looked away when he did it. It was beautiful, erratically beautiful the way every human being was, and Connor let his palm splay open. 

The human closed the gap, tangling his free hand with the droid. It’s not the same as when the android touched another machine on the roof, but this.. Connor couldn’t deny what he felt for Hank Anderson. He couldn’t deny that he wished they could stay like this, or that Hank would put his lips over every part of his body that needed reassurance. He couldn’t anymore. It didn’t matter what other humans said, what Amanda said, what Gavin said.

He was alive. He was human.  

 


End file.
